


Soul-searching

by GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Christmas, F/M, Fear, Horror, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey/pseuds/GinIsBetterThanFirewhiskey
Summary: When they went to see Arthur at the hospital, they never thought they'd have to fight to see the sun again. (Christmas in OotP) Horror.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, James!

Chapter 1. Prologue

Cries resonated in his ears, bringing the semblance of a smile to his thin lips. They were running, he knew it, trying to find a place to hide, to make it stop. The rain smashed on the large windows of Malfoy Manor, the gray clouds oppressing the walls while his subjects were knocking on the big wooden doors of the majestic dining hall where he was. They were shouting pleas to open the door, to let them out, to have mercy, sending shivers of excitement down his spine. He was relishing in the panic they were experiencing, the screams increasing before stopping abruptly each time.

"It won't be long anymore, Master."

He nodded, his eyes casting a look around the room and stopping at the owners of the manor. The kid's eyes were wide, and his body shaking made him want to laugh in ecstasy. The other occupants, his most faithful servants, weren't moving, basking in the afterglow of what they had just succeeded to accomplish, he assumed.

The light of the lighting bolt illuminated the door enough for him to perceive fingers slipping under one door. He titled his head, waiting sagely for the screams from afar to disappear with the thunder, to become a distant whisper.

"HELP! HELP! NO, NO! LET ME GO, HELP, MASTER!"

"PLEASE, HAVE MERCY, MASTER! MAKE IT STOP. MAKE IT-I DON'T WA-"

A faint noise reached his ears, disturbing him. He wanted to snap, to curse, to kill even, but wait for the cries to stop before acknowledging the words destined to him.

"-wonder Master. There will be children and babies there. Forgiving me my imposition, Master, but I must notify you that the risks could-"

His bald head turned to the person who dared addressed him, his dearest snake hissing dangerously at his side, appreciating the sound of his servants' hearts beating faster.

"Tell me Severus," he said, his bone-chilling voice echoing in the room, "since when do you have a problem with ending a child's life? I recall you were in favor of the idea if the result would provide you what you were wishing for. Alas."

Severus Snape gulped, his eyes flashing. His master noticed it, and didn't try to hide the grin grazing his grayish lips, his sharp teeth glowing in the dark and grim hall.

"I think it's ready, Master," the same confident voice as before said. "We'll just need someone to go behind the door to stupefy them before opening it. Then, we'll be able to control it."

"The smoke, you mean? What about the smoke, Master? How can we-? We all saw it. Nobody can survive-" one subject began, his striking face veiled by his anxiety, his voice higher than normal, like a melody to his master's ears.

The master chuckled, his laughter devoid of any warmth or humanity. "You'll have to find a way, won't you?" he replied, his cold eyes amused at the unsteady breathing of his men around the table. The room was engulfed by a faint putrid smell, making a woman retched.

His eyes fell on Peter Pettigrew, expecting him to do everything he'd ask him for. His notorious cowardice made all of it even more satisfying. The rat-looking man's body shook, his dark eyes fixing the marble table, hoping to not be seen, to be invisible. The contrary had pushed him years ago into his master's arms and the irony couldn't have been more delightful. He had the desire to be more. To be the first choice.

He was now. He knew.

"You go."

The man's scarred face jumped, blinking away his tears. The flame of the candles on the magnificent table danced in his frightened eyes, shooting a thrill of delicious excitement as his power and intimidation were the result of the scene before him. "Ma-ma-master. I-I'll do all you want but I-I'm not... The screams, Master. I still hear the screams. They won't-"

Glaring, he turned his wand in his hand, hypnotizing the other members at their chair. That was enough, and his patience was thin. "Go, I said."

The short man nodded shakily, accepting easily his fate, and not knowing exactly what was waiting for him on the other side of the doors. Not many knew. The pounding had stopped, the screams and yells were more distant now, but they knew -they all knew: they were on the other side of the door, waiting.

Nobody made a sound, recognizing the fact it'd be the last time they'd see the man's face. A face marked by the fear of dying, his notable ragged breathing reverberating on all of them. A face that would haunt them at night.

His feet scratched the cold ground, and everyone in the room could swear they could hear the blood pumping in his veins and the frantic beat of his heart. The sound of acceptance, of powerlessness, one that would chill you to the chore and would follow you in your nightmares.

They waited. In one last attempt to make his master change his mind, to choose someone else, the man turned towards the assembled, dark robes all turned in his direction, catching their breath.

His trembling fingers clutched his wand in one hand, while he grabbed the handle with his other hand.

Silence.

"YOU CAN'T OPEN THE DOOR!" someone shouted.

Pettigrew's glistered eyes glanced furtively at the person, before meeting his master's rethuless glare, hoping one last time it was just a nightmare. His master's jaw was set, and he never blinked, waiting.

He didn't have a choice, he had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even in his rat form, he wouldn't give him a chance, no it would be more painful, he'd use the cruciatus on him in front of everyone like last time before throwing him on the other side of the door. They'd kill him. Everyone here would kill him. He wanted to cry, to ask for forgiveness, to disappear. His ears were buzzing, his head felt heavy and he couldn't see clearly in front of him.

He'll be proud. He did so much for me. I'll be his favorite.

The man apparated to the other side of the doors, disappearing with the light of the lighting bolt reflecting by the windows.

They heard his trembling "Stupefys" breaking the heavy silence of the night, before it changed for heart breakable pleas.

"When I'll give you my benediction, you'll be able to dispose. Find a way to catch the smoke or don't expect to see the sun rising," he added to the others at the table, the music of the thunder rocking him in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, James!
> 
> Warning for mentions of past abuse.

Chapter 2:

Opening his eyes with difficulty, Harry groaned, thinking of the past few hours. The bed in which he'd tried to sleep in at Grimmauld Place was even more uncomfortable than in his memory.

He still felt shaken up, flashes of Mr. Weasley's surprised and scared face, leaning against a high shelf of bizarre crystal orbs, flowing through his mind.

It'd felt so real, it'd been real. It'd been him, he was sure of it.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. His heart was still racing in his chest, the anxiety pumping through his veins. Ron wasn't in his bed anymore, and really, he couldn't blame him. There was no doubt in his mind that any of the Weasleys had been able to close an eye in the past few hours. Himself had probably slept an hour tops, his exhaustion getting the better of him.

The house seemed even more grim than normal without voices and noises coming from downstairs. The Weasleys were usually a bunch of loud folks, always cracking a joke or arguing somewhere in the house, and their silence meant their world had shattered.

It was his fault.

Knowing firmly he wouldn't be able to find sleep again, he decided it was best to go downstairs, hoping someone would have news from the hospital. Any news would be better than nothing.

The feelings of being powerless and ignorant made his blood boil. He felt like punching the mattress but he contented himself to close his fists in anger. The last thing he really wanted was to see anyone, but his need to have news, to know Mr. Weasley would be okay was stronger. That was what he was hoping to hear anyway, because the opposite was unimaginable. He didn't even want to go there.

Harry was dreading having to look at everyone's calculating faces observing him, afraid he'd blow up, or tell them someone else had been attacked.

Pinching his nose, he sighed. His glasses were still on his face and he realised he hadn't removed them before falling asleep. His mouth was dry, making him wish for a glass of water, and his skin felt sweaty and oily.

He was a bloody mess.

He got up from the old bed, the victorian-looking blanket on top of it a bit wrinkled from his nap.

Looking at the hour, he realized it was still pretty early in the morning, the dusty emerald curtains at the window letting him perceive the murky sky. There still were droplets of rain splattered on the glass, letting him know the storm had ended not long ago.

He still felt tired, and his head was foggy from the oppressive thoughts and anger he was experiencing. Harry didn't even care about dressing up, noticing his trunk in the corner of the room, and walked barefoot with lazy steps to the kitchen, feeling the bottom of his pajama pants under his heels, his jaw set.

Crossing a sophisticated looking mirror in the grim dark corridor, he noticed his eyes were bloodshot, from lack of sleep and the panic he'd experienced earlier, he assumed.

He frowned, hoping no one would make a remark about it. Harry wasn't in the mood for anything and he even considered returning to hide into the dusty old room to avoid talking to someone.

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Harry heard Sirius yell from the kitchen when he passed the screaming portrait of his godfather's mother.

There wasn't much noise coming from the kitchen, and it only made him paranoid. Maybe it was just Sirius there? Maybe the others had all left because they wouldn't be able to see his face without wanting to punch it? Maybe they had learned some bad news? His hands were moist and his ceaseless frowning made the muscles in his face sore.

Harry pushed the kitchen door with his shoulder, and fell face-to-face with a Ginny in her pajamas.

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"No it's me, you don't-"

She smiled at him, and Harry couldn't ignore the fact it never reached her normally bright eyes. He let her pass through the door, her long soft hair brushing his arm on her way. He frowned again, and turned towards the table in the center of the kitchen. Everyone was sitting with a cup of tea or a bowl of uneaten cereal in front of them. Or a glass of firewhiskey, Harry noticed. The mood of the room was heavy and somehow, Harry found the house even more gloomy than normal.

The idea of running upstairs crossed his mind but before he could turn around, Ron called his name, a frown on his face.

"We were wondering when you'll finally show up," he told him, his words ringing loudly in the silent room. He kept his eyes on his friend, searching for a faint indication that he wasn't upset at him and also, not really knowing how to navigate in the awkward situation. He never knew.

"Yeah, princess Potter finally opened his eyes and graced us with his presence," George said with a touch of humor. Annoyed, Harry's first impulse had been to snap at him, but he remembered it wasn't the time to get grumpy at George. Not this morning.

"Oh let him be, boys," Sirius said with a reproachful tone, getting up from his chair, and making his way to the kettle. "Tea?" he asked Harry, showing him an old brown cup he'd taken out from the green kitchen cabinet.

Harry swallowed, and managed to nod his head. He took a seat in front of Ron who passed him the milk and the sugar immediately. Harry nodded at him too to thank him, and he smiled, returning to his cereal. Ron turned his spoon in his bowl, never lifting it up to his mouth. Harry noticed his cereal were soggy and guilt flooded into him. It was his fault Ron had no appetite.

A dressed Ginny arrived at the same moment Sirius put the cup of tea in front of Harry and she sat on the chair next to him. Sirius mumbled something about writing a letter and left the room.

Harry kept his eyes on his cup, not moving. He felt like he didn't have any energy, and like a storm was raging inside him. Anger, injustice, shame, guilt, fear, helplessness. His stomach churned, he felt the beginning of a headache appearing, making his blood pump in his temples and his eyelids feeling heavy.

"-sleep well, Harry?"

Harry raised his head when he heard his name, his eyes locking with Ginny's. There were dark circles under her eyes, and guilt flared in his chest again. He wasn't able to return her smile.

"Er," Harry answered her, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, his eyes flying to the table. "I'm fine."

Harry noticed from the corner of his eye that she lifted an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing a word, but she didn't add anything. Her arms were now around her knees on the kitchen chair, looking pensive. Harry felt his mouth dry and found the force to take a sip of his hot tea. He pulled a face, realising he never added any milk and sugar in it. Ginny's mouth curled a little, and Harry wondered in an instant if he was happy he made her smile or if he was annoyed and feeling a bit stupid.

"Hermione said she'll join us at the hospital a bit later today," Ron said to Ginny, who nodded at her brother.

"Oh, you're going to the hospital?" Harry managed to ask, his heart beating faster. He moistened his lips, playing with the spoon in his cup.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Mum's still there and we're allowed to go."

"Oh," Harry said, his throat tightening. His eyes stayed on his cup, not knowing what to say. He felt like he shouldn't be in their presence, like he was not allowed to breathe the same air as them, and he should have just gone by the front door, and not sat at the same table as them.

Ginny was staring at him, like she was trying to read his face. "Do you want to come with us? We-," she added, glancing at Ron and the twins before looking at him again. "We don't want to pressure you, but if you want, you're welcome."

"Of course he wants to. It'll be good for you to see he's fine," Sirius said to him, making Harry jump when he heard his godfather's booming voice. Clapping Harry's shoulders on his way, he then returned to his seat at the end of the table, opened the newspaper and put it in front of him. "And someone needs to get away from this bloody crazy house since I can't," he added with disdain, his hands clutching his firewhiskey glass. He took a long sip, signed and took the newspaper in his hands, hiding his face.

"I-" Harry said, and took a deep breath.

"I thought you were coming," Ron said. "Dad would want to see you."

"And mom!" Fred said. "She needs to crush the bones of her hero after all." He winked at Harry and Ginny chuckled, her laugh appeasing his worry.

"Yeah, er, okay," he finally said, and Ron kicked his leg under the table.

"Good boy," Ron said, making Sirius nod.

"By the way, you need to move, because Hermione arrives in half an hour to leave," Ginny said to her brothers. Ron got up from his chair, and headed to the stairs to get dressed, Harry assumed, and Fred drank the milk in his cereal, while George yawned, arms above his head. Harry found himself yawning too and heard Ginny asked Sirius for the sport section in the newspaper.

* * *

"Oh, Douglas! Just the man I was searching for! We'll need to clean the floor in room 547, the little boy vomited everywhere again. I tried to scourgify it, but I think we need a real good cleaning this time."

"I'm on it, Ma'am!" Douglas said to the mediwitch, winking at her.

"Oh, you! You're terrible. See you at our pause!" the mediwitch said to the janitor, turning down the corridor.

The man chuckled to himself, whistling on his way to the cleaning supplies cupboard on the next floor. He took the stairs, thinking about what he could eat tonight. Maybe he could stop at the Leaky Cauldron and order their famous stew; it'd been a while since he'd eaten one and they were as good as the ones from his childhood.

Heading to the cupboard, he found the corridor tranquil today. He shrugged to himself, making the list of the things he'd need to levitate to the room to clean and sanitise it correctly. He cleared his throat momentarily, a weird uncomfortable feeling taking place in his body. It was just his anxiety.

He put his hand on the door handle, noticing how cold it was, and frowned.

A chill ran down his spine, making his toes curl, and his mind screamed to him to be on alert. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head around slowly, grazing the room with his eyes, bracing himself to see anything, his hand in his pocket, ready to take his wand out.

Silence.

There was nothing. Everything was at its place. He was alone. It was in his head.

"You're going crazy, Douglas," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Opening the door and making the hinges creak, he entered the small cupboard. A panoply of buckets and sanitising potions were perfectly aligned on the high shelves, making it easier to take what he needed and to read the tags on the bottles. He lit his wand to see in the dark space, searching for the right bottle. He coughed when he moved one, the dust now in the air tickling his nose. He hurried up, knowing how people were waiting for him on the floor above. The little boy needed to feel comfortable in his room.

The man pushed the wooden door with his back, his arms full of what he needed to do his job, and exited the cupboard. Taking out his wand, he made the cleaning supplies he took levitate behind him.

It was weird. Something felt wrong.

He continued walking to the stairs to go downstairs, only the sound of his steps for company, and smelled it.

Frowning, he sniffed, unable to place the scent. He'd never smelled something like that. It wasn't a terrible smell, but it wasn't exactly attractive either. Something like burning coals maybe. He wasn't sure. He didn't want to know.

He increased the speed of his steps, knowing it'd feel better when he could see some faces. He was being paranoid. He just hated being alone. It felt creepy, being all alone on a hospital floor. It wasn't the first time he wanted to run until he saw the sun. He needed to stop being ridiculous.

Thinking about the stew he'd eat tonight to try to change his mind, the man turned left down the corridor, knowing the stairs were just at the end of it. Just there.

He started coughing, the scent becoming more dominant now. He'd need to talk to the air quality guy because it was unsustainable.

That's when he saw it. Just there.

Fear gripped his insides, and he stopped. There was a purple smoke advancing fast towards him. He didn't know what it was, but he knew, he felt it: it wasn't normal. His gut told him to run, to never look back, and he tried, but he was unable to move, paralised by the voice he was now hearing in his head.

It couldn't be. He wasn't here. They told him he was away and he'd never come back. His mother had confirmed it. He was in prison. He wasn't there. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"Hi Douglas, did you miss me? Where's your mother? I miss her. You can tell me, I won't hurt you. I promise, I won't do it, not this time. It was a mistake. You know how daddy can be. Where is she? Tell me. Is she hiding? Could she be hiding from me? Really? Douglas. WHERE IS SHE, DOUGLAS?"

"STOP!" he shouted, putting his hands on his ears, an attempt to stop the words from ringing in his mind. The man fell to his knees, the cleaning supplies falling behind him on the cold ceramic floor.

"WHERE, DOUGLAS? WHERE!"

"Leave me alone," he sobbed, trembling. "Leave us alone. You're not my dad. GO AWAY! FUCKING GO AWAY!"

"Oh but I can't, Douglas. I won't."

He tried to get up, he saw it, the smoke, going straight for him, but he never moved.


End file.
